


the issue on the table

by drunkonwriting



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5071825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonwriting/pseuds/drunkonwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“we argued so much during a class discussion that we both got kicked out and we’re still arguing outside of class” au</p><p>modern college au. burr and hamilton get into it about tax reform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the issue on the table

**Author's Note:**

> i mean, i could have just as easily made this about tjeff and hamilton, but they're not really close enough in age to take the same college courses so.... 
> 
> this is short, sweet. remember this au on a bus ride and wanted to get it out fast, so i wrote it in like 30 min and didn't edit. leave comments/kudos if you like!

In retrospect, it might have better for Aaron to have not taken an intro class to Political Science when he was already in his third year of college, on the cusp of graduation. It's just, he's been avoiding it since declaring his major for the exact same reason that it makes his Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings a vacuous time suck—it's full of a) idiots who are just taking it for a gen-ed course and don't give a fuck about politics or b) try-hard freshman who can't keep their mouths shut and their opinions to themselves.

Alexander Hamilton is of the later variety.

"The fact of the matter is, the wealth distribution in this country is atrocious," Hamilton says from his place at the front of the classroom, where he parked himself on the first day and hasn't been swayed from since. In the intervening weeks, the space around him has grown progressively wider once his classmates started to learn more about his personality. He's leaning forward in his desk—if Washington allowed it, he'd probably pace as he talked. "Our current debt comes from a combination of mismanaging federal financial resources—such as by putting far too much of our money in military defense—and our tax system, which allows the insanely wealthy to walk away with the same amount of taxes as middle-class employees."

Aaron sighs. Loudly. Hamilton swings around to face him, as attuned to every potentially argumentative voice as always. For some reason, Hamilton seems to thrive on debate: Aaron's not really sure why, since Hamilton has never been swayed by anything anyone's ever said to him. 

"Mr. Burr?" Washington says from his place up front. "Anything to add?"

Aaron hates this, he really does. He's made it his habit to never say anything that can be used against him later, to always walk the line between issues instead of choosing a side. But Hamilton drives him up the wall—sometimes he even argues against Hamilton even on the subjects in which they are in agreement, just because he can't stand Hamilton's self-satisfied smugness at his own opinion.

"I suppose I object to Mr. Hamilton's idea that we should take a person's hard-earned money just because they happen to make more of it," he drawls in his best Southern accent.

Hamilton's flushed. Were it anyone else, Aaron might think he was embarrassed or ashamed—but no, Aaron knows he is simply furious. His eyes, bright-dark and luminous, taking up a good part of his face, glitter. 

"Oh?" he asks. "I suppose it's hard to ask a CEO's son to be impartial."

Point. "I suppose it'd be difficult for an orphaned immigrant to be impartial as well," Aaron offers.

Hamilton rises from his seat. "And you really think that?" he demands. "That these men who throw away the money someone might make in a year—that they deserve to taxed _less_ , not more?"

"I believe that CEOs work hard to make their living," Aaron says. "Is it really justifiable to tax them more because they happen to make more money?"

" _Yes_ ," Hamilton says. "Why not, if they make so much? Are they really going to miss it, if they have to pay a few extra hundred, an extra thousand? _Oh no_ ," he says, adopting Aaron's exact accent with uncanny precision, " _we might have to buy one less yacht this year, darling. Looks like we'll have to settle for five. Those damned taxes!_ "

Some of their classmates titter. Aaron bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn't scowl.

"And so the people who suck off of the government's teat instead of getting a real job—they should be let off scott-free?" he demands. "Taxed less because they don't have the guts to lift themselves out of the gutter?"

"You think it's easy to lift yourself out of the gutter?" Hamilton demands. His words come out so fast it's almost hard to follow them, and he's getting redder and redder. "You think any kid on the street doesn't dream of having _your_ silver spoon, Burr?"

"Mr. Hamilon, Mr. Burr—"

"I think we're going to give these kids an easy ride," Aaron says. He's leaning forward now too, drawn up in to Hamilton's pace. "Tax the hardworking businessman, but go lax on the unemployed? What kind of precedent does that set, Hamilton?"

Hamilton's mouth twists, giving his face an ugly expression. "The hard-working businessman?" he scoffs. "Do you know that there were CEOs last year who still gave themselves bonus checks even as they made massive layoffs? Do you know those bonus checks could have been an annual salary for some of the people in this country? Do you even give a fuck about that, Burr?"

"Mr. Hamilton! Mr. Burr, sit down—!"

"My father raised himself from _nothing_ to lead his own company and leave me a legacy to protect after he died," Aaron hisses, on his feet now. "If he can do it, then so can those kids who you're about to let off easy."

"Your father was fucking _lucky_ you arrogant, presumptious—!"

"MR. HAMILTON. MR. BURR."

They turn to see Washington watching them, face a stone mask. Despite himself, Aaron flinches back from that look; Hamilton, on the other hand, juts out his chin and folds his arm, the obstinate little bother. Washington surveys them for a moment, then sighs.

"As much as I appreciate your… passion on this matter, I must insist you leave this classroom."

Aaron's jaw drops. 

"But, sir—!" Hamilton protests.

"No, I really must insist," Washington says. "You've caused a disruption to the whole class." Aaron can't see Hamilton's face, but something in it must be terrible, because Washington softens a little. "I'll talk to you during office hours, Alexander."

Hamilton's spine straightens. If they were in the military, he'd probably salute, Aaron thinks sourly.

"Yes, sir!" he says.

Aaron gathers his bag and papers, fuming to himself. He doesn't stop to talk to Washington or look at anyone as he storms out of the classroom, heading for the library. Of all the stupid, ridiculous things to happen to him today—!"

"Burr! Hey, Burr, wait up!"

Aaron nearly starts to go faster, but his conscience (damnable thing that it is) gets the better of him. He turns to see Hamilton running after him, panting. He's a full head shorter than Burr, but he's fast.

"We didn't finish," Hamilton says.

"Finish?" Aaron asks.

"Our discussion," Hamilton says.

Aaron's not sure how a heated debate that got them kicked out of Washington's classroom can be called something as civilized as a 'discussion,' but Hamilton tends to look at the world oddly.

"It doesn't matter," Aaron says. "You win. Arguing with you is too tiring. It's like fighting a hurricane."

For some reason, that makes Hamilton shiver. Aaron stares, because he's never seen Hamilton expose a weakness like that. In class, he is all unsheathed rapier-blade—on the offensive, intense, always ready with a barb or a quip depending on his mood. 

"I can't just let it go," Hamilton says. "The moment we submit to our apathy, hundreds of our citizens go hungry or lose their homes or—"

"They're not our citizens," Aaron says, prickled. "Not yet. We're just undergrads. You need to learn to be less intense, Hamilton. Talk less, smile more."

Hamilton smiles as if to mock Aaron. "Ah, but talking is what I'm best at, you see," he says. "And they _will_ be our citizens. We might as well start considering them as such now. Do you really not care about the fact that poverty in America is one of the worst in all of the first-world countries?"

"Do you really think that taxing the rich will solve anything?" Aaron shoots back.

Almost unconsciously, they begin to walk again, side by side. Aaron shortens his stride so that Hamilton can keep up, but Hamilton ends up being faster than him anyway—Aaron has to practically run to stay by him. It's like Hamilton is full of energy that he doesn't know what to do with.

"I think it's a start," Hamilton says. "Just a five percent tax raise could put a significant dent in our current debt… Of course, another option would be to refinance government funding and put more of it into actual programs that need it—like, say, welfare programs and education—rather than the military."

"Education already has too much money," Aaron shoots back. "The problem there is not the funds, it's the distribution. They don't use it well and it ends up going to waste."

Hamilton's eyes gleam. "What would need to change would be the administrators then, not the funding," he says. "Though I disagree that they have too much money…"

As they make their way to the library, still talking, Aaron notices more than one person double-take. He decides to ignore it. Hamilton may be obnoxious and loud-mouthed and opinionated, but there's something about him that pulls you in, drags you along with his pace until you find yourself running alongside him trying to argue for education reform. 

Or maybe that's just Aaron.


End file.
